


Something Borrowed

by meggiemellark (ohmymeggs)



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Romantic Comedy, Weddings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-02-03 14:31:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1747988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmymeggs/pseuds/meggiemellark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Katniss Everdeen's younger half-sister is getting married. Even worse, her ex is the best man and her overbearing Aunt Effie can't wait to meet the fabulous new boyfriend she's heard about. But Katniss's biggest problem is that there is no boyfriend. Enter male escort Peeta Mellark. He's handsome, charming, suave, and worth every penny.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KeelaC](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeelaC/gifts).



> Happy birthday, keelac!!! I hope this is everything you imagined! And a huge thank you to chelzie for correcting my mistakes.
> 
> This piece is based on the 2005 film "The Wedding Date." Therefore, some of the dialogue is taken from the movie. I don't own it or THG.

I bite the corner of my lip. It would be so easy just to give in to the temptation, the desire… But where would that get me, other than lying on the couch feeling miserable in the morning? Damn. It _would_ be nice to just let go and feel something for once. It’s not like I really ever have fun anymore.

“You’re such a tease,” I murmur, still not entirely sure what I’m going to end up doing. “You lead me on and I give in every single time and then I wind up hating myself…” But my stomach tenses in anticipation and I know there was never another choice.

“Okay, fine, but this is the _last_ time.” I sigh deeply as I remove the last chocolate cupcake from the bakery box and sink my teeth into the decadent frosting. _God_ , that’s good. Maybe even better than the first three. I finish it off in record time and lick my fingers clean before taking a long drink of the red wine in my glass. I may have eaten four double chocolate cupcakes in less than an hour, but at least I still have half a bottle of wine left. I _can_ exercise self-control sometimes.

Feeling guilty, I peek down at my stomach, barely visible through the frothy bubbles that swirl in the tub. “An extra mile tomorrow, Everdeen,” I promise myself and drain the remainder of the poured wine.

Okay, so maybe it’s a little ridiculous that I’m sitting in my bathtub eating cupcakes and reading _Cosmo_ on a Friday night. But I’ve had a long, stressful week at the paper and I deserve an evening of self-indulgence.

With my foot, I jostle the hot water tap and relish the new warmth of the water by sinking even deeper. The rush of the running water fills my ears so completely that I barely register my phone pinging from its place on the ledge of the tub.

“Balls…” I groan and grasp for the towel so I can dry my hands off before answering. Normally, I wouldn’t even bother, but I am the IT person on call this weekend and after all the problems with the server over the last week, I was probably very stupid to think I could have a night to myself.

It isn’t the office, though—it’s worse. It’s my half-sister.

“Delly,” I greet her, trying to keep the annoyance out of my voice. She only ever calls me to remind me that the family is still in Seattle and it’s only the other side of the country, not another continent for Christ’s sake. It’s not that I’ve forgotten… It’s just that sometimes I really, really wish I could.

“Katniss!” she squeals so loudly that I jerk the phone away from my ear. “Katniss! Gale proposed!”

“Oh…” I’m vaguely aware that this isn’t the appropriate response, but it’s all I can come up with at this point. My sister is engaged… My younger, blonder, much perkier sister is engaged… And I’m sitting alone in my bathtub on a Friday night.

“Did you hear me?”

Like there was anyone on the Lower East Side who didn’t.

“Gale proposed! I’m getting married and I wanted you to be the first to know!” She’s off into near-hysteria once again.

“That’s great,” I fluster. “Oh my God!” I finally manage to form a coherent thought. My enthusiasm, however, is clearly forced.

“Oh, Kat…” she says, finally calming herself enough to speak clearly. “I’ll tell you all about it later, but first I have to know—will you be my maid of honor?”

“Delly…” I sigh. “I just don’t know…” I haven’t seen her in almost two years. Surely one of her friends from back home would be a better choice? But she’s asking _me_ , and outright declining her just feels rude.

“Oh, please say yes! I can’t imagine myself up there with anyone but you at my side. Please? _Please_?” She’s quickly entering whining territory. I need to shut this down before she really gets going.

I take a deep breath. How can I deny my sister this? Or anything for that matter? “Of course I will be.”

Delly squeals again but then stops just as suddenly as she started, her voice growing very, very solemn. “Oh, but… Thom…”

My pulse quickens as nerves clutch at my stomach. “What about Thom?”

“Well…” I can imagine Delly twisting a tendril of hair around her finger as she thinks. “He is Gale’s best friend, after all…”

“So?” I ask, getting rather annoyed at her usual habit of beating around the bush. I’d rather she be screaming and direct than subdued and coy.

“So…” She drags the word out, another Delly trademark. “He’ll probably want Thom to be the best man.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. Of course. I definitely should have thought of that.

“Kat, if it makes you uncomfortable…” Her voice trails off and just like always, the guilt sets in immediately. There’s no saying no to my younger sister.

“No,” I supply before she can offer up my maid of honor status to our cousin Johanna. “No, it won’t be a problem.”

She shrieks again and tells me she has to go now because they have a hundred other people to call. I feign sadness, but I’m grateful. It’s getting harder and harder to ignore the niggling headache that’s taken root right between my eyes.

I sigh as I disconnect the call and toss my phone onto the plush bathmat. I reach for the half-empty bottle of red wine and pull out the cork. This time, though, I don’t even bother with a glass.

* * *

I wake the next morning with a wicked red wine hangover and an ever bigger emotional one. I’m pretty sure this is exactly the opposite of how a normal person would feel about their sister getting engaged. I have to shake this feeling quickly. Before we’d disconnected last night, Delly promised to call me back this afternoon to discuss the details of her shower and bachelorette party, events that I, as her maid of honor, would be tasked with planning. But I decide that I’ll give myself an hour before my 10:30 workout just to grovel.

With a sigh, I swing my legs out of bed and trudge into the kitchen where I seek out a stale package of Saltines and a can of ginger ale. Then, sipping slowly so as not to further upset my stomach, I plop down on the white rug in front of my bed and dig for the shoebox I know is just behind the dust ruffle. My fingers make purchase and I pull out the well-worn box.

I decided last night, in the senseless clarity that always seems to come with alcohol, that Delly isn’t the person I’m upset with; it’s Thom Fulton. And in a way, even that seems a little unfair. I mean, sure, he threw away our almost four-year relationship for practically no reason at all—at least, not one that I’m aware of—but he’s still Gale’s best friend, just like I’m still Delly’s sister and we both have the right to be there for our friends’ wedding… Even if it should be our own.

I stare at the shoebox for what seems like forever, trying to convince myself to open it, to just face the memories I’ve clung to for years, but before I can work up the strength my phone buzzes with a text from my best friend, Madge. She tells me she’s leaving her apartment and that she’ll meet me at the gym in fifteen minutes. I breathe an internal sigh of relief. As much as I seem to enjoy torturing myself, rehashing old memories is probably not the best thing to do first thing in the morning. I finish my breakfast of crackers and soda and dress in my favorite pair of yoga pants before grabbing a bottle of water and heading the three blocks to my gym.

*

I hold myself to the extra mile I’d sworn to last night, and after four excruciating miles on the elliptical, Madge and I head back to the locker room.

“Damn, Katniss, you were a on a mission today,” she laughs as I mop the sweat from my face.

“I over-indulged last night…” I answer her, grateful that my cheeks are already red from exertion so she can’t see me blush.

“Ooh.” She taps my arm playfully. “That usually means I can skip my workout the next morning. You know that sex burns more calories than, like, anything else.”

I shake my head. Madge’s and my definition of over-indulgence seem to be completely different. “No, when I say over-indulge, I mean I ate my weight in double chocolate cupcakes and drank an entire bottle of wine.”

She nods understandingly. “Sex still burns a shit-ton of calories…” Madge wiggles her blonde eyebrows at me and I can’t help but laugh. She knows how long of a dry spell it’s been for me and, like the perfect best friend, she refrains from commenting.

 “Do you want to grab lunch?” I ask. The hangover and crackers burned off somewhere between miles two and three and now I’d practically kill for a double cheeseburger.

“Can’t,” she murmurs as she stuffs her towel in her gym bag and retrieves a bottle of water. “I have a prior engagement.”

It doesn’t surprise me. Madge is a serial dater. Truly, she almost has to be admired. Somehow, she always seems to have a string of men just waiting for her to call them up and ask them to dinner. “What’s his name?” I ask teasingly as we step into the bright sun.

She grins wickedly. “I can’t tell you.”

I sigh dramatically. “Come on, you know I’m not getting any. I have to live vicariously through you!”

“It’s not a date,” she says stoically. “It’s a source for an article I’m working on for the paper.”

Madge is one of the few journalists at the newspaper I can stand to spend time with outside of work. She says it’s because she works in features, which is like news, only way more fun. Any way you describe it, she always seems to be working on the most interesting pieces for the Arts and Leisure section.

I rack my brain trying to think of what they might have her working on now. There’s a big music festival next month. Maybe she’s meeting with one of the band members. “Musician?”

She shakes her head, sending her blonde ponytail flying around her head. “You won’t guess, Katniss, trust me.”

“Then tell me!” I implore. “Please? Don’t make me lock you out of the server.” Sometimes having power over the technology of the Big Apple’s most influential paper is kind of nice.

“You’re good.” She narrows her blue eyes at me. “Okay, but I still can’t tell you his name. I’ve promised him anonymity because his line of work is rather… Delicate.”

“Mob boss?”

“I already told you, you won’t guess!” Madge takes a swig of her water, solely, I’m sure, to drag out the tension a little. “He’s a male escort.”

I gasp. “A hooker? Like, a gigolo?”

“I think they prefer ‘male escort’ now, Kat.” She laughs. “I thought it would be an interesting human interest piece and I happened to know a guy who knew a guy and now I have this interview.”

We stop in front of my brick apartment building. There’s no talking Madge out of a good story once she gets her mind set on it, so all I can do is wish her good luck. “Let me know how it goes?”

“Absolutely.” Madge leans in for a hug. “And who knows? Maybe if he’s really good looking, I’ll slip you his number so you can break the drought.”

“‘Drought,’ Madge? Jesus, it hasn’t been _that_ long.”

“Sweetie, you probably have cobwebs down there.” She winks at me. “Okay, I’ve got to run. Try not to shot-gun three seasons of _Breaking Bad_ and a large stuffed-crust pizza tonight.”

“Well, I won’t make any promises.” I grin at her as she waves over her shoulder and bounces down the sidewalk.

* * *

 

Unfortunately, by the time I shower, redress, and talk with Delly about plans for her parties, I’m still obsessing over that damn shoebox sitting on the thick rug in front of my bed. I could—and more to the point probably _should_ —slide it back into its resting place without a second thought. But feigning excitement for my half-sister has been exhausting, so I order a large stuffed-crust pepperoni pizza (Madge be damned) and decide to flip through the box while I wait. I already feel like shit, so it’s not like I have that much further to fall.

“All right, Everdeen,” I steel myself as I remove the lid. “Just this once and then it’s over.”

I’d be lying if I said I was even a little proud that I still have a shoebox full of pictures, cards, and notes from my relationship with Thom. Even though it’s been two years since I was unceremoniously dumped, throwing everything out feels way too final. Like maybe if I hang on to these keepsakes, he’ll remember that he loved me once. Then there’s the pesky little issue of the black velvet box I hold in my palm.

What are you supposed to do with old engagement rings anyway?

Clearly, if you’re me, you shove them under your bed until you really need a reminder of just how awful your life is and then you pull it out, slip the absolutely perfect two-carat, princess-cut solitaire platinum setting on your left hand and weep openly because your younger half-sister is engaged and you haven’t been on a date in six months.

Suddenly, an entirely new thought plagues my already addled brain. “Fuck!” I exclaim, slapping the wood floors in frustration. There’s no way in hell I can show up to this wedding alone, not with Thom there looking fabulous. Despite my most ardent prayers, I highly doubt he’s gained two hundred pounds and developed a nasty case of adult acne. Then there’s my overbearing Aunt Effie, who will do nothing but weep about how I’ll _never_ find anyone if I just sit in my apartment all day long if I show up dateless.

Maybe there’s hope. Delly informed me during our conversation that the wedding was officially set for June fifth, so that gives me six months to find someone to date. Surely I can’t be single forever.

I think back to my earlier talk with Madge. Hey, if worse comes to worst, I suppose I can always hire a date. The thought is so ludicrous that my tears of anger, frustration, and sadness quickly give way to tears of hysterical laughter.

*

**Six Months Later**

It never fails—whenever I have a Saturday morning to myself, Aunt Effie calls before eight. Doesn’t she realize that she’s three hours _behind_ me and that just because the sun is up on the east coast doesn’t necessarily mean that I am? For a fleeting second, I seriously consider denying the call and going back to sleep, but I know my aunt and she’ll just continue to call until I give in and answer, so I roll onto my side and answer the phone with a gruff hello.

“Katniss, _darling_ ,” she trills. Delly definitely gets her perky disposition from our mother’s and Effie’s side of the family.

“Hi, Aunt Effie,” I greet her, praying she can’t hear the sleep still in my voice. Aunt Effie considers the day wasted if you aren’t out and about by seven.

“Listen, you know that I hate to stick my nose in other people’s business…”

I snort before I can stop myself. We all know that Effie’s idea of fun is sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong.

“…and Delly would never tell you this herself because she’s far too sensitive for her own good…”

I brace myself. Surely this conversation won’t end well.

“But she’s worried about you.”

I sigh. Delly has texted me practically every day, confirming that I’ll be in Seattle in time for her wedding. It had been a chore, changing my plane ticket every time Delly or my aunt decided to add another party or gathering to the list. We’d eventually settled on a solid four days of wedding preparation. I’ll be getting into SeaTac the evening the celebration—or torture session, as I prefer to call it—begins. Just in time for cocktails with the relatives.

“I’ll be there,” I repeat for what feels like the nine-thousandth time. “I’ve told Delly every day that I’ll be there.”

“Oh, no,” Effie tuts. “It’s not that you’ll be here. It’s that you’ll be here alone.”

Oh. That. So much for me finding a date over the last six months. In all fairness, work had gotten crazy with the implementation of a new server and I’d been working fifty hours a week almost non-stop since Delly first called to announce her engagement. However, there was also part of me that just really enjoys piling up on the couch in sweat pants for a Netflix marathon. I don’t think anyone is worse off because of that… Except my clearly non-existent social life.

“She’s just concerned,” my aunt continues, obviously uncomfortable with the silence. “She doesn’t want people to feel badly for you at her wedding.”

So that’s the real crux behind this. Delly’s afraid that someone might take the attention away from her for five minutes to pity poor, plain, single Katniss. It might hurt my feelings if I weren’t so incredibly pissed off.

I clear my throat. “Well, you can tell Delly that she has no reason to be concerned, because not only will I be there, but my date will be too.”

I can practically see Aunt Effie’s giant blue eyes light up. “Date? Katniss, you didn’t tell us you were dating anyone!”

I flounder. That’s because I’m _not_... But I can’t admit my mistake now. Not when the entire family in Seattle is planning on sitting around and feeling sorry for me when I show up single to my sister’s wedding where my ex-fiancé will walk me down the goddamn aisle.

“It’s new,” I say quickly. “I didn’t want to say anything because I wasn’t sure it would last… You know… But yeah. We’ll be there. Me and my date. Tomorrow. Just as planned.”

“How wonderful!” Effie squeals. “Okay, darling, I have to run, but love from me and Uncle Haymitch. And do call when you’re on your way to the airport. Kiss, kiss!”

I can’t even stutter out a goodbye before she disconnects the call. I grasp my phone tightly in my palm, desperately trying to figure out who I can convince to attend a wedding with me on twenty-four hours’ notice. Madge is truly the only friend I have in New York, and even though I have no doubt that she loves me like a sister, I think asking her to pose as my date may be stretching the limits of our friendship just a little. Not to mention the rumors that would ignite amongst my gossip-loving family. Then… Madge… An idea roots in the back of my brain and it’s just so ridiculous that I may be able to pull it off.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I dial Madge’s number. She picks up on the second ring.

“Madge,” I say, hoping she can hear the blind desperation in my voice. “I need a really, really big favor.”

* * *

 

My alarm doesn’t go off. Of _fucking_ course on the day that I have to pack and fly out to Seattle for my sister’s wedding, my alarm doesn’t go off and I don’t wake up until my voicemail pings harshly by my bed. Slack-jawed at how much time I’ve wasted—and a little nervous about how much I still have to do before catching my flight, I practically skip into the bathroom to brush my teeth, pressing play to listen to the message. Multi-tasking is a must this morning.

“Katniss, hi, this is Peeta Mellark,” the voice says.

I nearly choke on the mouthful of foam. Okay, so I’d gotten desperate and called in a favor from Madge. I never actually thought he’d return my call…

“I’m sorry I couldn’t get back to you earlier, but I got your messages… All seven of them.”

My cheeks color. I had been a little on the high-strung side after lying to my aunt. At least this guy’s voice sounds nice. Deep, confident… My family will eat him up.

“I know you’re nervous.”

What is this guy, psychic?

“Don’t be. This is what I do. Your family will think we’re madly in love and your ex-fiancé will be sorry he ever left you. Trust me. Listen, I’m running a little late, so I’m sending a messenger to pick up my ticket. I’ll see you at the airport. I can’t wait to meet you.”

The doorbell rings almost immediately after the voicemail signals the end of the message.

“Fuck!” I swear as I whip around and stub my toe on the edge of my vanity.

I throw on pants before rushing to open the door, and a sweaty bike messenger smiles. “Hi,” he greets me.

“I’m so sorry,” I say breathlessly, hoping that I don’t have toothpaste smeared all over my chin. “I wasn’t quite ready for you.”

He shrugs and watches as I bend to collect the extra boarding pass from the side table by my door and shove it into an envelope. I’d lucked out in that there just so happened to be one seat left on my flight to Seattle. Of course, it also helps when you work on the personal IT systems of the airline manager. He even bumped my seats up to first class after I promised to install free software on his machine as soon as I returned from my trip.

Hastily, I scrawl Peeta Mellark’s name on the front of the white envelope and reopen the door, holding the ticket out to the messenger. He grabs the other end of the envelope, but I can’t seem to release my fingers.

“It’s a plane ticket,” I say, for reasons that I absolutely cannot explain. “For my date.”

The messenger nods at me with wide eyes and I know he doesn’t care. I just can’t actually believe that I’m doing this, so for some reason, I have to explain every detail of my life.

He tugs on the envelope, but my grip remains tight. “You’re going to have to let go,” he says gently.

“You’re going to have to help me,” I reply helplessly, feeling that as long as I keep a finger on that ticket, I can still back out of this. I can still show up to Delly’s wedding alone and just eat a giant bowl of crow.

But the bike messenger wraps his long fingers around mine and the envelope slides from my hand. He nods at me as he takes off down the hallway and I gulp. This is actually happening.

I slam the door shut and run into my bedroom. I haven’t even started to pack.

* * *

Let me just say that under normal circumstances, I am a very calm flyer. Really. I’ve been doing it since I was small, so being a few miles above ground doesn’t bother me anymore. But today, as I settle into seat 3A, I can’t deny the knots that twist in my stomach. I’m sure it has more to do with my still absent date than the actual cross-country flight, so I have to find something to do until the mysterious Peeta Mellark shows up. I grab the emergency exit fold out from the seatback and bury my face in it.

The flight attendant laughs as she kneels next to me. “Your first flight?”

I shake my head. “My sister’s getting married,” I explain, because I still haven’t quite gotten my mouth to stop betraying me, “And my ex is the best man. In case I chicken out, I want to know where all the exits are.”

She smiles gently and hands me a flute of champagne. “Here. To relax you.”

As soon as she turns her back, I down the drink and fiddle nervously with the glass. Then, because being a little buzzed for this flight might not be such a terrible thing, I follow her to trade my empty flute for a full one.

“I’m not normally this high-maintenance,” I whisper harshly, tugging at my braid. “It’s just that any second, my date is going to sit down in 3B and I need him to look really, _really_ good today.”

The petite flight attendant stretches onto her toes to peer over my shoulders and her eyes widen. “Well, hello, 3B…”

My stomach sinks and all the bubbles from the champagne flood my brain. I can barely keep my knees from shaking as I walk down the narrow aisle back to my seat. Peeta Mellark’s back is turned to me, but his shoulders are broad underneath the black suit jacket and his blond hair is carefully combed. He’s taller than me, but not by much, and his build is strong. He turns around and his eyes are so blue that I’m immediately reminded of how the Atlantic Ocean looks from thirty-thousand feet. It’s no wonder he became a male escort—I can’t imagine anyone this beautiful doing anything else.

“Hey,” I greet him softly, still inwardly ogling him.

“Katniss.” His voice is deep and sure. He practically oozes confidence. He grabs my hand lightly and leans forward to plant a soft kiss on my cheek. Then he stands back and allows me to pass in front of him to take my seat. As I sit down, he shrugs off his jacket and flings it carelessly across the arm rest. “I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner,” he says apologetically. “I’m usually much more prompt. And I’m sorry we had to take the later flight; I know how much you must be looking forward to this.”

I wave him off. “Work must be crazy.” Silently, I pray that a hole will open under my feet and swallow me as soon as I realize exactly what I’ve said.

Peeta takes it in stride, though his impossibly blue eyes widen, and he relaxes back into his seat to listen to the safety instructions.

We’re quiet during takeoff, and only speak when the flight attendant asks us what we want to drink. It’s an awkward situation, one that I’m not entirely sure how to remedy. Luckily, Peeta Mellark, male escort, seems to be much more used to this kind of thing. Obviously.

“So tell me about your family,” he says to me and then backpedals at what I’m sure has to be the look of pure horror that crosses my features. “Or not. Sometimes it’s just nice to know what to expect.”

Fair enough. Sending Peeta into the lion’s den known as my family unprepared might lead to disaster anyway. “Hmm. Well, I guess it’s only fair to warn you…” I sigh. I had been hoping to avoid this Pandora’s Box of a conversation. “You know those families where everyone’s crazy, but at the end of the day you’re all family so you come together and love one another and everything’s all right?”

He nods pensively as he takes a long sip of his Jack and Coke.

“Mine’s not like that.”

Peeta snorts into his drink and looks at me quizzically. “Really?”

I shrug. “I love my uncle. But he married in so he’s not really family… More like a hostage,” I add as an afterthought. And then, to hold off the question I know is coming, I launch into the short version of my convoluted family history. “My mother’s sister and her husband took in my sister and I after our parents died.”

“I’m so sorry,” he says. I’ve heard it so many times since my parents’ untimely death that I thought it wouldn’t affect me anymore. But then Peeta grabs my hand and squeezes gently and I feel a small rush of sadness that Delly’s father won’t be there to walk her down the aisle.

I shake him off. “It’s fine. It was a really long time ago. And they took good care of us, gave us whatever we wanted, so it wasn’t a bad childhood.” I stifle a yawn with the back of my hand. “I’m sorry,” I add sheepishly. “I didn’t sleep well last night, between worrying about today and worrying about you…”

He chuckles. “You worried about me?”

“I worried more about facing my family without the date I promised them…”

Peeta leans in close to me and plants another kiss on my cheek. “Stop worrying. Everything will be fine.”

I smile up at him, curious to know how a complete stranger can make me feel so at ease. “Would it be rude if I took a nap?”

 “Not at all.” He smiles down at me.

With a sigh, I rest my head against the window and am quickly met with sleep.

* * *

 

“Katniss…” Someone nudges me lightly as he whispers my name. It must be Thom. I haven’t welcomed another man into my bed since…

Thinking of Thom snaps me out of my reverie and I’m mortified when I realize that it was _Peeta_ , my date for hire, who woke me. It also appears that I’ve drooled all over his starched white shirt. _Shit_.

I sit up straight and wipe my mouth, embarrassed that I slept on his shoulder when I barely know him, and mortified that I even bothered calling him in the first place. Am I really so desperate to escape my family’s criticism that I’m willing to pay a man to pretend to be interested in me?

Then he smiles. “Good evening, sunshine.”

Goddamn, he’s pretty. At least his looks will keep Aunt Effie happy for the time being. I smile coyly. “I’m so sorry.”

He shrugs and I begin to wonder if anything shakes him. “I was going to change when we landed anyway.”

“Me too.” I stretch my back and look around. “Are we getting close?”

“About ten minutes out.”

“Perfect,” I respond. When I pull out my compact to retouch my makeup, my thick, dark hair is wild around the crown of my head and my cheeks color. _Just get through this week, Katniss,_ I remind myself, _and then you never have to see him again._

*

I’m eternally grateful for the large bathroom stalls at SeaTac, because I’m able to change into my chosen outfit for Delly’s first party. I study my reflection in the mirror. My hair now looks fine after a little water and a quick rebraid. My aunt won’t be too thrilled that I’ve chosen to wear my hair back tonight, but she’s also royally pissed that I waited until today to fly out. She’ll get over it. It was the easiest thing for me… And my date.

I’m not crazy about the dress I’ve chosen for today, but it was our mother’s and it’s made from a delicate, light blue fabric that accentuates the gray of my eyes. Besides, no one will be paying much attention to me anyway. No one ever does as long as Delly is in the room.

I take one final glance in the mirror before retrieving my carry-on from the counter and walking out of the restroom to meet Peeta. We trade duties guarding the piles of luggage—mostly mine, I’m embarrassed to admit—and he steps into the men’s room to change his suit. He takes much less time than I did—of course, he also has a lot less hair to deal with—and rejoins me in the terminal as I send a short text to Effie and Delly letting them know we’ve arrived safely and are en route to the house.

“Ready?” Peeta says as he grabs the bar of the luggage cart.

I nod and look up at him, but immediately balk. “Oh, no.” He’s changed into a light gray suit with a cornflower blue starched shirt underneath. His dark gray tie contrasts nicely and I’ll be the first to admit that he looks absolutely delicious. Together, however, we look a little… well… _planned_. “Peeta, please tell me you aren’t wearing that to the party?”

He glances down. “I am. Is there something wrong?”

“No!” I respond quickly. “It’s just that…” I sigh and gesture to my dress. “It looks like I took half of my dress and made you a shirt…”

“Ahh,” he nods understandingly. “And you’re afraid that your family will see us and think we’re trying too hard.”

When he says it, it doesn’t make quite as much sense. “I just want us to look like we fit without—”

“Let me tell you a secret,” he cuts me off and stops right in the middle of the walkway. An overweight redhead gives us an annoyed sigh as she waddles around us. “If you look people in the eye, they won’t notice what you’re wearing.” Then, without another word, he continues toward the rental car booth.

With a huff, I grab the garment bag from my pile of luggage and storm off toward the nearest restroom. He may not be concerned with how my family perceives us, but I sure as hell do. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to walk into that room matching my fake date. I settle on a strapless, deep red, knee-length dress and zip myself into it. I also shake my hair from my braid, pleased for once with the way the tendrils curl along my back.

From the way Peeta’s jaw drops when I rejoin him in line, I can tell it was a good decision. He clears his throat, attempting to recover from his less-than-subtle gaping. “I like this one.”

I shrug. “Yeah, well. If I’m going to feel like shit, I at least want to look good doing it.”

He smiles. “Mission accomplished.”

* * *

 

The closer we get to the out-of-the-way waterfront venue Delly chose for her welcome cocktail mixer, the tighter the knot in my stomach grows. Peeta rides silently in the passenger seat, watching the lush green of endless evergreens fly by. When we finally arrive, he steps around to my door to help me from the car and once again, I’m completely amazed at how relaxed he seems to be about this entire situation. I, on the other hand, feel like my skeleton has been replaced with thick iron bars. Every step I take up the stone path is stilted and I hold my back ramrod straight.

We’re three feet from the door when I whirl around. “I’m not sure I can do this…” I put a hand to my head.

“You can’t be sure of anything, but you still have to go in,” Peeta responds softly and grasps my bare shoulders. “Clearly, we have a lot of warming up to do before show time, so just focus on me for a minute.”

I nod and heave a deep sigh. I don’t really have any other choice. We’re here and he _is_ the expert… Professional? I decide here and now not to think about it. This is a _business_ transaction, nothing more.

I’ve just started to speak when his lips settle softly onto mine and he kisses me gently.

“Relax,” he implores me in a whisper and his mouth finds mine again, this time hungrier and more urgent.

I surprise myself by responding with verve—I’d forgotten what it felt like to be really, truly kissed by someone who knows how… and boy, does Peeta know how to kiss. But I’ve already promised myself to stop thinking about that. Once I start focusing on how many pairs of lips his tongue has parted, I’m afraid that I won’t be to continue with this plan and I’m too far in to back out now. I pull away from him and feel myself blush.

“Remember,” he murmurs, tugging gently at my loose hair, “We’re madly in love, so it’s all right to kiss me anytime you feel like it.”

I nod solemnly. “Thanks, I’ll keep it in mind.”

He winks an impossibly blue eye at me before offering me his arm.

“We need a story!” I exclaim suddenly, and I absolutely hate myself because this is what we should have done on the plane in lieu of my extra-drooly nap. “Okay,” I continue quickly, still grasping Peeta’s arm as though he’s a life-preserver in the vast ocean of my sister’s life. “Okay, you’re a therapist and we just started dating but you’re already crazy about me.”

Peeta nods, indicating that he’s on board for this idea, no matter how ludicrous. Honestly, I’d just picked a random profession out of the air, but I’d opted for something I knew would impress Aunt Effie.

“Oh, that reminds me…” I stop walking and plunge my hand into the depths of my purse, fishing for the envelope I know is there. I finally find it and hand it over with a little more enthusiasm than is entirely necessary. Handing over this much money is something I feel I have to do quickly, lest I chicken out at the last minute. “It’s all there,” I assure him as he tucks the envelope into his jacket. “Count it.”

He shakes his head. “Nah, I trust you.”

“Just…” I bounce on the tips of my toes. “Count it. Please?” I sigh exasperatedly as he removes the thick envelope and flips through the stack of bills. I count along with him just to be sure he’s counted correctly. The last thing I need is him thinking I owe him anything.

“Six thousand even,” he confirms and places the envelope of money into his jacket. “All right. I’ll cover expenses, but if you want to get intimate, we talk price before anything happens.”

I shake my head vigorously. “No, no, that won’t be necessary. I find the idea of money for sex morally repugnant.”

He cocks an eyebrow at me and it’s almost like I’m back in my seat on the plane, embarrassing myself all over again.

“I’m sorry,” I add quickly. “No offense.” But the damage has already been done.

Peeta’s eyes are cold as he grabs my hand and drapes my arm back over his. “Do me a favor and stop apologizing. It’s unnecessary and a little annoying.”

“Okay,” I agree and I begin to wonder if I’ll ever feel comfortable around Peeta. “Sorry.” I realize my mistake immediately. Yeah… the comfort thing won’t be happening any time soon.

* * *

 

Aunt Effie meets us just inside the door and I sigh. I had been hoping to have at least a moment to orient myself—and Peeta—to the room full of my relatives and family friends milling about. Not to mention Thom.

“Katniss!” She sweeps me into a tight hug, managing not to spill a drop of her martini only because the glass is half-empty. She must be taking this much harder than expected—usually Uncle Haymitch is the one with the drink in his hand.

“Doll, what happened to you?” she asks as she releases me. “We were expecting you an hour ago…” Effie’s shrill voice trails off as she catches sight of Peeta standing behind me.

I thought we made fairly excellent time considering my wardrobe issues, the traffic from the airport, and the location of what has to be the most obscure venue in Washington State. And I do not like the way my aunt is studying Peeta…

“Oh, I see.” She nods enthusiastically, like she’s discovered the answer to a riddle. “You pulled over for quickie.”

My cheeks color immediately. “Oh, my God… This is _so_ not the time to be yourself…”

God bless Peeta. He really must have incredibly intuitive people skills… Or he’s just seen a little bit of everything in his line of work. Whatever it is, he steps between my aunt and me and takes Effie’s hand.

“Hi, I’m Peeta, the new guy.” In a move that would seem ridiculous if it were anyone other than my debonair date, he raises Effie’s hand to his lips and kisses it gently.

She practically melts. “It’s a pleasure,” she says sincerely, and for a moment I wonder if maybe she can act normally for the next few days. “Even though, you know, I didn’t even know you existed until yesterday…”

Hope, unfortunately, has never really worked out for me.

“You know, in times like these, I find that a stiff drink usually helps.” My uncle brandishes a highball glass full of his—and my—favorite gin. “Quick,” he whispers with a wink. “Before your aunt sees.”

I drain the glass in two gulps and step into his arms for a hug. Words can’t describe how much I love my Uncle Haymitch. Somehow, although they are total opposites, he had found my aunt. He liked to say it was because someone somewhere knew I would need someone who understood me.

I was twelve and Delly eight when our mother and her father were hit by a drunk driver and killed. It’s an awkward age already and I didn’t know how to live in a world where my parents didn’t.

We were lucky. We very easily could have been shuffled through the foster care system and never had the plethora of opportunities we were awarded. But my sweet, childless Aunt Effie and her stoic husband had welcomed my sister and I with open arms. He didn’t have to love me the way he did, but something in our personalities just clicked and Uncle Haymitch quickly became one of my best friends.

He grabs the glass from my hand and pretends to take a sip as Effie approaches us. She tuts at him, but he widens his eyes at her now-empty martini glass and an entire unspoken conversation passes between them.

 “Katniss!” Delly’s voice is shrill enough to break glass—figuratively speaking, of course—and she swoops in on me with little warning, other than the stream of incessant chatter falling from her lips. “Kat, I’m getting married! Can you believe it?” She squeezes me tightly for a microsecond and then pushes me away, her gaze traveling up and down Peeta’s long, lean body. “Hey, who’s the hunk? Nice!” Then, before I can answer, someone else catches her attention and she’s swept away in the stream of people here for her.

Aunt Effie pushes a glass of soda water into my hand and takes my elbow gently, leading me toward the front of the room. “Now listen, this wedding is a marathon, not a sprint. We have cocktails tonight, the bachelor and bachelorette parties tomorrow night, which of course, I have planned based on your specifications. Then there’s the rehearsal dinner on Friday, and of course, the blessed event come Saturday. And since you have so foolishly left no time for jetlag, I need you to hydrate.” She motions to the glass I’m clutching, waiting for a lull in the conversation. Sometimes I think that half the reason I’m so quiet is just because between Delly and Effie, there was never any time for me to talk.

“Well,” she says, staring disapprovingly at the glass in my hand. “Drink!” And then she rushes off, surely to find someone else to chastise.

Haymitch sighs and twists the empty highball glass in his hand, making the ice tinkle against the sides. “I’d tell you she’s not always like this, but I hate to lie to someone I’ve just met,” he quips and then extends his hand to Peeta. “Haymitch Abernathy, Katniss’s uncle.”

“Peeta Mellark, Katniss’s date.” Peeta returns the handshake firmly and I know my uncle will be pleased about that if nothing else. “Can I get you a refill, sir?”

“Ahh!” His eyes light up and he passes the empty glass to Peeta.

“Katniss?” Peeta nods to my glass of water.

“Please make sure there’s liquor in this when you come back…”

Peeta smiles at me and walks the short distance to the bar as Haymitch leans in close to me. “Where’d you find him, sweetheart?”

I smile wryly and decide to tell the truth. He’ll never believe me anyhow. “The Yellow Pages.”

“Hellooo!” My Aunt Effie has procured a fresh martini and a microphone from somewhere and she’s standing at the front of the room with Gale’s mother, Hazelle. Displeased with the volume, she taps the top of the mic until a shrill squeal of feedback peals throughout the room. If she didn’t have everyone’s attention before, she certainly does now.

“Oh, sweet Jesus…” I mutter. “Who gave that woman an amp?”

“Welcome, welcome!” She grins broadly and takes the time to scan the room, making eye contact with just enough people to make everyone feel included. Effie has always been a natural at the whole public relations thing. “We are so honored to have you all here to celebrate with us as we welcome Gale and the Hawthornes into our family.” She shoots a saccharinely sweet smile over to Hazelle, takes a sip of her martini, and then launches into exactly what I was afraid of. “You know, it’s funny, because we thought we’d be marrying Katniss off first and we got close once!”

I want to die. Where the hell is Peeta with my alcohol? I wish for telepathy in this moment so I could ask him to bring the entire bottle. I feel, rather than see, the gaze of everyone in the room on me. My cheeks must be the color of my dress.

“But as you all know,” Effie continues, blissfully unaware of the embarrassment she’s caused, “That crashed and burned, but we were able to get the deposit back, and so here we are—”

There’s a sudden progression of chords from the back of the room and I just make out Thom’s dark hair behind the raised lid of the grand piano.

Uncle Haymitch clears his throat as Peeta returns with our drinks, and immediately holds his fresh glass in the air. “To the bride and groom!”

Effie looks flustered for a few seconds and then she pats her hair. “Yes, well, back to our bride and groom to be. Gale…” My aunt raises her glass toward where Gale stands with Delly wrapped in his arms. He rests his head on her shoulder and she looks so exquisitely happy that for a moment, I _am_ jealous that everyone has gathered to see my sister marry when it should have been me. I shake my head and take a long drink of the now gin-infused soda water. _No time for a pity party, Katniss. Not today. Not this weekend_.

“Gale,” Effie continues, “We are so happy you fell in love with the girl next door, our sweet, sweet Delly.”

My half-sister dabs at a tear that slips from the corner of her eye and Gale kisses her cheek firmly, a man completely in love.

“Congratulations,” I say loudly, surprising even myself as I raise my glass and watch as the rest of the room follows suit and repeats my words.

“Congratulations.”

Peeta catches my eye from the other side of Haymitch and nods ever so slightly.

“Thank you…” I mouth silently, not only for the liquor in my glass, but also for the moral support he’s somehow supplying.

For six-thousand dollars, I’d expect nothing less.

* * *

 

Whether it’s from the exhaustion, the fact that I haven’t eaten much more than airline peanuts, or just because of the current rate at which I’m knocking back gin and tonics, I excuse myself to the restroom after my aunt’s toast. There, I carefully touch up my lipstick, praying that I’m not yet drunk enough to smear it across my teeth, and adjust my breasts. I haven’t talked to Thom yet and while I wouldn’t exactly say I’m looking forward to it, I at least want to look my best.

As luck would have it, my ex-fiancé is waiting for me just outside the restroom. I suck in a deep breath and brace myself against the wall. “Thom,” I say in what I hope is a careless and breezy tone.

“Hello… Catnip.” At his use of his and Gale’s nickname for me, I feel my resolve start to crumble and I allow him to pull me into a hug. His strong arms twine around my waist and he presses a kiss to my cheek. He still smells the same, like sandalwood and musk, and the vestiges of his aftershave linger on his cheeks. I close my eyes, completely satisfied with the way this is working out, practically ready to throw myself back onto his bed.

“Oh, my _God_!”

I jerk away from Thom and he looks at me like we’re two teenagers that just got caught half-naked in the backseat of his car.

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!” Johanna Mason attacks me from the front, squeezing me tightly. “Brainless! Where the hell have you been all my life? I have gynecologists that call more often than you.”

Thom takes a step back and rubs his jaw. He and Johanna were never close.

I look quizzically at her. “You have more than one gynecologist?”

She shrugs. “I play them against one another so they won’t think I’m easy.” My cousin spins around and grins wickedly at Thom. “Hello, asshole!” she greets him cheerfully. “Listen, since you dumped my cousin brutally and without cause, you won’t mind if I just steal her away?” Johanna grabs my hand before Thom can stutter out a reply. “Thanks.”

I’m more than a little tipsy and although I’m glad to see my favorite cousin, I’m also a little disappointed that she didn’t let me have it out with Thom. “You didn’t have to do that, Jo,” I whine.

“Believe me,” she answers, tapping on the shiny wood surface of the bar to catch the bartender’s attention and motioning for two drinks. “I wasn’t saving you from him, I was saving you from yourself.”

I scoff. How ridiculous. I’d merely had the _fleeting_ thought of finding myself back in bed with Thom. It wasn’t like I was stripping in the hallway.

“You’re too fucking nice, Katniss,” she states matter-of-factly, in that way that makes you wonder if maybe Johanna can’t read your mind a little.

I roll my eyes and take the proffered drink. But Johanna always seems to know everything about everyone so I can’t help myself. “By the way, did he bring a date?”

She takes a long sip of her drink. “I see you did.”

Following her gaze, I can see Peeta standing with Aunt Effie and a group of her friends. He must be charming the pants off of every single one of them. I’ve never seen so many older women fawning over a man my age before.

I shrug. “He’s… nice. So about Thom…”

“Brainless.” She smacks my head lightly. “Why waste one more millisecond of your life on that douche-lord when Mr. Tie Me Up, Tie Me Down is waiting for you across the room?” She practically licks her lips as she stares Peeta down. Then, because I suppose part of being a male escort is always knowing when to turn on the charm, he turns around and winks at me.

“Oh, Christ,” Johanna moans. “I think I just came.”

I snort into my glass as Delly waltzes up beside us. She’s never been a huge drinker, but I can tell that the stress of this massive event is starting to wear on her. Her blue eyes are round and glassy and she stumbles a little as she hugs Johanna and me.

“You know what I love about all this?” Delly slurs.

“There’s finally a reason for the world to revolve around you?” I say under my breath.

But Delly just throws back her head and giggles. “Exactly.” Then she wraps her arms around my shoulders and pulls me in tight. “I’m so glad you’re here, Katniss. I’ve missed you so much. By the way… What is your new hunky-dunky doing with your ex-fiancé?” Lazily, she points a finger in Peeta’s direction and I see that she’s right. My aunt and her friends have dissipated and Peeta is nursing a drink and talking quietly with Thom.

Johanna nods to me, indicating that I should take care of the situation before it escalates. She puts an arm around Delly, gently guiding her over to where Gale sits, surrounded by a few of his fraternity brothers.

Obviously I don’t catch all of their conversation, but I hear enough to make me curious. Thom seems to be talking about someone that he’s crazy about—in love with even—but she’s here with another man. My stomach flutters involuntarily. I hadn’t planned on rekindling my relationship with Thom over this weekend, but I suppose nothing’s out of the question. I mean, there has to be a reason that the box full of mementos has been so important to me over the last few years? The ring still fits…

“There you are!” Peeta calls to me and extends an arm. “How are you?”

I press myself flush to his chest, immediately remembering the true reason of his presence here. Even if Thom is realizing what a colossal mistake he made by breaking off our engagement, I might as well have some fun with him before I declare all wounds healed. “Perfect. I’m all ginny.”

“Hi, Katniss,” Thom says brightly. “Hi.”

“Oh, hi,” I reply. And then, just for good measure, I kiss Peeta full on the mouth. It’s probably a little more openly than I would normally, but the combination of liquor and exhaustion fuels my impulse and I want to see Thom uncomfortable, just for one minute of his life. “Peeta, I see you’ve met my ex.”

Peeta’s eyes widen in recognition and he nods. “I was just telling him how we met.”

“Yes!” I force a laugh, but mentally I’m kicking myself. I thought of everything else? Why didn’t I think that anyone would ask how Peeta and I met?

“The Knicks game?” Peeta implores me, his expression telling me to just trust him.

“Oh, right!”

Thom’s brow furrows. “You hate sports…”

“I hate baseball,” I clarify, referencing one of our last dates, a dismal game at SafeCo Field, where it rained through all nine innings and I developed a nasty case of bronchitis from staying out in the cold, wet air. Ever since then, baseball’s come with bad memories.

“Well…” Thom flounders, wringing his hands. “I guess I should… go.” And he does, leaving me pressed into Peeta’s chest, snug, safe and warm.

It takes me a moment to realize that it’s okay to disengage myself from him and even longer for me to actually do it. “He looks miserable,” I say, just needing a way to steer the conversation toward something other than the proximity of Peeta’s body to mine. “What were you talking about anyway?”

Peeta shrugs. “Mostly nothing. He’s just a little drunk… But I think he’s still crazy about you.”

I shove him playfully as if to say that the last thing I care about is whether Thom still has feelings for me. I’d be a fool to say that I would decline if he asked me for coffee or dinner one night. I hate myself for thinking that, for even entertaining the possibility, and maybe even hoping for it.

Mostly, I hate the way Peeta looks at me with those bright blue eyes and sees right through me.

 


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I know it's been forever and I deeply apologize. I started teaching full-time back in August and I've hardly had time to breathe. I had much bigger plans for this chapter, but seeing as how I probably won't have time to write until Christmas break, I wanted to go ahead and get this out there so that hopefully everyone will know that this story (and any others) are not abandoned and I have not left the fandom. I'm just miserably busy at the moment. And a special thanks to chelziefor squeezing me in between her real-life responsibilities as well. Please enjoy!

 

Finally,  _finally_  after what feels like years, the last guest excuses herself. Gale and Delly take off to their house on Queen Anne Hill, leaving only Effie, Haymitch, Peeta, and me. After some debate, it's decided that Peeta and I will follow my aunt and uncle to the home in which I was raised. Gently, Peeta coaxes the rental car keys from my hand. That's probably for the best… I can barely feel my feet from all the gin swimming in my head.

The drive to the house is definitely less awkward than the drive from the airport, but by no means comfortable. For the first time in my life, I'm grateful that Effie has such Puritanical ideas about non-married couples sharing a bed. I'm desperate to sink into the plush mattress in my old bedroom room and fall into the deep sleep of drunken exhaustion. And to have five minutes to myself to process what I've done by bringing a male escort across the country to attend my sister's wedding with me.

Uncle Haymitch and Peeta carry my luggage up the winding stairs of the house while my aunt helps me maintain my footing. To my surprise, she isn't chiding me about having too much to drink. Maybe she realizes that tonight her incessant nagging would only make her a hypocrite. And a hypocrite is the only thing Aunt Effie hates worse than an unmade face.

We stop in front of my childhood bedroom door and the four of us stand awkwardly, unsure who is supposed to make the next move. Once again, Peeta saves the day.

"Thank you again for having me," he says with a genuine smile.

Effie waves him off. "Of course. Honestly, it's just a pleasure to meet you, considering we only just found out about you—"

"Come on, princess," Haymitch implores her and I make a mental note to thank my uncle tomorrow for his impeccable timing. "They're tired. Let's let them get settled."

"Umm. Where is Peeta sleeping?" I clear my throat, embarrassed that I have to ask. This oversight on my aunt's part is unprecedented.

She laughs, high and clear, and shoots Peeta s look as if to say that I've lost it. "I am not as small-town as my niece seems to think. You will stay with her, of course."

"Of course…" I say lamely and try to ignore the wink my uncle shoots me as he leads Effie back down the stairs. Peeta grins and with some shuffling, we drag all of our luggage into the bedroom.

Growing up, I'd always thought my room was huge, but with time and Peeta's added presence, the walls feel tight and claustrophobic. Other than that, absolutely nothing about the space has changed. The queen-sized bed is exactly where it's always been, the dresser and closets are the same. My desk still stands against the wall and the door to the en suite bathroom is still to the left. Of course it's the same. Places don't change, just our perception of them.

I clear my throat. "You can shower first if you want," I tell Peeta. "I have a lot more to unpack than you."

"Sounds good." He nods and then asks where he can stash his small suitcase. After retrieving his toiletries and stowing his bag inside the top of my closet, Peeta steps into the bathroom to brush his teeth. He doesn't shut the door between us, but I suppose he isn't naked yet so there's no reason for my nerves.

I busy myself, unpacking my clothes and hanging them in the closet, looking at the surprisingly not awful pale purple bridesmaid dress hanging in a plastic bag, and setting out my minimal—but Delly approved—makeup on the vanity table beside the desk.

"How'd you know this was me?" Peeta asks from the bed where all my smaller luggage pieces rest. In his hand is a carefully folded and very worn newspaper clipping—Madge's article. The article that started this whole damn thing. I hadn't even realized he finished brushing his teeth.

"I have…" Mortified, I snatch the paper away from him. I don't even remember packing it. "A friend… Madge." I finally settle on a direct answer. No point in beating around the bush. "Madge is my best friend. She, uhh… Well, she…" My hands flap uselessly in the air and I press them to my thighs in desperation. My cheeks burn hot.

"So much for anonymity…" he snorts as he untucks the button-down shirt from his pants and I avert my eyes quickly. "Go ahead and look," he says dryly. "I mean, you paid for it."

"I know what you must think of me." I try to keep myself busy by talking and refolding my clothes before laying them in the dresser drawers. It doesn't work, not even close, because I've folded the same pair of panties about thirty times. I catch myself stealing glances at his well-defined (and naked! When  _exactly_  did he lose his shirt?) torso. There's a thatch of blond hair that starts just under his navel and leads down to…

"Anyway." I blink rapidly. "I just never thought anything like this would happen to me."

He shakes his head and pulls his pants down in one fluid motion. "Look, I'm not really in the business of judging people for what they do. But I'm intrigued, so I'm going to bite—you think this happened  _to_  you?"

I know what he means. I'm not an innocent party in this at all and it's unfair to call myself a victim of anything, especially circumstance. It's not like he just showed up in the seat next to me on the plane and asked if he could take me to my sister's wedding. I'm the sole protagonist of this story.

I shrug. "I meant 'happened' in the sense that I tracked you down, called you, flew you across the country, and handed you six-thousand dollars out of my 401K." Even I know how utterly ridiculous I sound. "I just…" I sigh. "I never thought I would be in this situation. It…  _Life_  hasn't turned out like I thought it would."

He just nods, like he understands completely, and for the first time I start to wonder if he just might. Without another word, he steps back into the washroom and I sigh gratefully when the water starts to run. My relief is short-lived, though, as I notice that the door is still open. I guess he has nothing to hide. I, on the other hand, can't imagine being so carefree about my body. Still, it's a fight for me to avert my eyes as I catch the flash of his orange boxer briefs as they slide down over his muscular thighs.

I try unsuccessfully to concentrate on my clothes, but I only packed for a few days after all, and there are only so many times you can fold a thong before you start to feel stupid. It's an incredibly foolish idea—maybe even more so than inviting him to the wedding to begin with—to follow him into the bathroom, but now that the proverbial cat is out of the bag, I grab the folded newspaper and swallow the lump in my throat.

I have no interest in seeing my escort naked, on a conscious level at least, but I do have a few questions about his line of work. Why did he decide to do it? Does he work a lot or just sporadically? How many weddings has he been invited to in order to help someone pathetically single (like me) impress her (or his!) overbearing family (like mine)? So what if he doesn't like it? Unlike Madge, I don't plan on printing his answers, and that's what he gets for leaving the bathroom door open. I wait, rather impatiently, for the shower curtain to open and close, and Peeta's low voice to drift out on the steam. He really is a terribly singer… Of course, it could just be the song selection.

"Air Supply?" I scoff as I lean against the doorjamb.

He snorts and peeks around the curtain, water dripping from his soaked hair. "I assumed you were a fan." Peeta smiles as he nods to the poster plastered to the backside of the door, yet another left-over relic from what feels like a lifetime ago.

"It was a… Belonged to umm… The foreign exchange student." I rip it down hastily and shove it into the trash bin to the side of the toilet. I have to be the worst liar in the world. "He was from… China or… Somewhere. So." I clear my throat and perch on the edge of the commode. "I have a few questions."  
"Yeah, you struck me as the questioning kind." A suds-covered hand waves from the side of the curtain. "Ask away."

Well, that was unexpected. I had prepared for him to fight me tooth and nail to avoid talking about himself. Startled, I unfold the article and scan through it for the faint pencil marks I used to denote my thoughts.

"Okay, so the thing about your mom…" I tread carefully, waiting for him to answer so I can judge his reaction.

"It's true," he says simply. "I was the youngest of three boys and by far the most unremarkable."

My breath catches in my throat. I feel terrible for him. "Oh, God, you really did go into all this to make yourself feel worthy of love." The article hinted at as much, and Madge warned me not to get too involved, as her source was "emotionally distant," but there's no way I could have imagined this.

" _Fuck_  no!" Peeta responds vehemently from behind the shower curtain. "Shit, is that what Madge is telling everyone?"

I stammer out a few nonsensical syllables, but I'm far from convincing.

"Look, if you really want to know why, I'll tell you," he says, the offense he took in my question all too obvious in his voice. "I like sex. I'm good at it. So I figured I might as well get paid for it. Everyone always says you should love your job."

"And you do?"

"I do."

I'm not entirely convinced, but the finality of his tone is clear, and I know that pushing any further will probably— _definitely_ —end badly. I tuck a stray tendril of hair behind my ear while I work up the dignity to leave my hired date to shower in privacy.

"Okay," he says quietly, just as I start to push myself into standing. "What else do you want to know?"

"Oh… Nothing… Never mind…" Curiosity burns hot in my head, but its heat is nothing compared to the flush of my cheeks. Things were going so well at the party and then I had to go and open my big mouth. What's worse is that I can't even blame Aunt Effie or Delly.  _Nope, this royal fuck-up is all yours, Katniss._  Drunk me never was good at doing anything other than passing out.

"I'd really just prefer to get this all out in the open now," he presses.

I sigh, grateful for the thin piece of fabric that separates us. I couldn't stand for him to see how uncomfortable this entire situation is making me. "Well, okay, there is one more thing…" I glance down to the article, scanning for the one quotation that sent my blood boiling. "You say, and I quote, 'Every woman has the exact love life she wants.'" Righteous anger rises in my throat. "Now that seems like a fairly big—Oh, my  _God_!" I stop mid-sentence and clap my free hand over my eyes. In my preoccupation with the article and my selfish need to extract information from Peeta, I hadn't realized that the tap stopped running or that the shower curtain whisked open or that Peeta Mellark, male escort, exited the tub to stand right in front of me. And, as luck would have it, my height, combined with my choice of seat location, puts me right at eye level with Little Peeta, which just might be the worst misnomer in the history of the world.

I don't want to look, truthfully I don't; but my fingers spread of their own accord and I can't look away.

It has to be one of the prettiest dicks I've ever seen. Not that I have much to compare him to… But as far as penises go this one… Well. It's a nice cock.

It takes me a painfully embarrassing moment to force my eyes upward, following the dips and ridges of his stomach, covered in soft, golden hair that thins over his chest. When I finally reach his eyes, I recognize the smug grin that teases the corners of his mouth and the dangerous way his blue eyes twinkle.

I swivel on the toilet seat and choke back the humiliation that threatens to suffocate me. I focus instead on the anger from his generalization about single women that still roils under the surface. "Do you honestly think that I  _want_  to be alone and miserable and hung up on the ex that dumped me out of nowhere?"  _Excellent tactic_ , I chide myself. Nothing screams emotional security like staring in wonder at your hooker's junk while stammering about how you're still in love with your ex-fiancé.

He pauses, thinks for a moment, and I hear the rustling of a towel as he dries himself. "First of all, there's no such thing as 'out of nowhere.' There are always signs and there are always people who miss them. And secondly…" Peeta secures the white towel around his waist as he steps around me and through the doorframe. "Yeah, I do think you like it. I don't know how or why—I'm not a real therapist, remember?—but when you're ready to let go of Thom and move on with someone else, you will."

I gape after him. Then, in utter frustration, and because I can't even begin to think of words to express how pissed I am, I slam the bathroom door between us, strip as quickly as possible, and step into the hottest shower I can stand.

* * *

I scrub and seethe under the tap until the water has cooled considerably and my skin is pink and raw. Even I know I can't avoid him forever, no matter how awkward our encounter was. Maybe, by taking the longest shower I can get away with, he'll be nestled into the queen-sized bed snoring away by the time I redress and rejoin him in my bedroom.

I'm as quiet as possible as I towel-dry and comb the tangles from my long hair and brush my teeth, but as I step into the bedroom, Peeta's propped up on two pillows, thumbing through a thick book, a pair of black-framed reading glasses sliding down his nose. He smiles at me as I retrieve extra pillows and blankets from the closet and shove them against his side.

"Should I even ask?"

I sigh. "Look, nothing personal, I just…" I stop short, because there's no way I can maneuver out of this conversation without further embarrassment. Why did the pleasant burn of the gin have to fade away on the wisps of steam from my shower?

"You don't want to sleep next to a prostitute?" he provides, a wry smile tugging the right side of his mouth upwards.

"You aren't… It's not…" I stammer hopelessly, wringing my hands as humiliation rushes over me. "Look. I haven't been with anyone since Thom and I don't… I guess I don't want to tempt myself."

He nods. "Fair enough." And without another word, he closes his book and shuts off the lamp.

I poke and prod at the barrier I've erected between Peeta's hips and the empty space for my sleeping spot—how did he know that I prefer the left side of the bed?—until I'm finally satisfied with it. Then, mortified that I've revealed more to Peeta in the past twelve hours than I've told Madge in three years of friendship, I crawl into bed.

I promised myself during my shower that I wouldn't bring up the conversation between my ex-fiancé and my date-for-hire that I accidentally overheard earlier, but staring up at the dark ceiling, my curiosity gets the better of me. I have to know exactly what Peeta meant when he said Thom was still crazy about me. Surely it's possible that he was only trying to placate me. I roll onto my side and tap Peeta's shoulder gently. His response is nothing more than a muffled grunt, but I take it as a go-ahead.

"How did Thom sound?" I ask quietly. "When you talked to him earlier, was he…" I falter, not sure where I was even heading with that. Do I want him to be sad? Remorseful? Certainly not happy.

Peeta is quiet for so long that I start to wonder how he could have fallen asleep so quickly, but then he takes a deep breath. "He sounded haunted… Like there's something he can't forgive himself for. I don't know if that's what you meant or not, but that's the only way I can describe it."

I chew on the corner of my mouth and turn this information over for a moment. I was prepared for lonely or sad or melancholy… But I never would have imagined  _haunted_. It seems so tragic and somehow beautiful all at the same time. I'm still uncovering depths in someone I thought I knew better than anyone else.

My back aches and I shift ever-so-slightly toward Peeta. I have to stifle a gasp as I see the expanse of his naked back. I study the dark planes as I inhale sharply despite my best efforts, and for a moment, I seriously consider tucking my hands under my body to keep them from seeking out and tracing the broad curves of those shoulders. Then my stomach tugs almost painfully and I remember that this entire thing with Peeta is a ruse, fabricated only to placate my overbearing family and just maybe spark the tiniest bit of jealousy in my ex.

"You really think he still wants me?" My voice is barely a whisper and it fades into the black night quickly, borne away on the deep, even sounds of Peeta's breath as he sleeps.

* * *

I surprise myself by sleeping soundly through the night—I blame the vestiges of the gin—until Aunt Effie raps on the door at ten-thirty to rouse Peeta and me to prepare for the day-long stag parties. I'm shocked. I can't remember the last time she let me sleep past eight. My cheeks burn with the realization that my aunt probably thinks Peeta and I were up far later than we actually were and that we were expending a lot more energy than… Well, than we actually did.

But this slight embarrassment is nothing compared to what I feel when I open my eyes. Jesus, you'd think I'd be used to making a fool of myself. I've gotten incredibly good at it over the past day. The make-shift barrier I'd carefully placed to keep Peeta's and my bodies from touching in the night has made its way into the floor on the side of the bed. What's worse, I've flung my arm and leg across Peeta. I'm actually fucking  _spooning_  him.

I freeze. Of course I want nothing more than to extricate myself from the position before he wakes and realizes exactly how desperate I truly am. And, of course, I don't want him to get the wrong impression about how far I expect this relationship to go. Slowly, carefully, one muscle at a time, I lift my limbs and prepare to roll onto my back and then onto my side so I can swing my legs to the floor.

"Good morning." I've barely rotated my stiff hips when Peeta's blue eyes open and he blinks sleepily. "What the hell are you doing?"

I flip my body over so quickly that there's no earthly way I could maintain my balance (or dignity) as I tumble off the bed and onto the small mountain of pillows and blankets. "It's… We have to get ready…" I mumble as I push myself off the floor. "And you should get up, too. It's a big day for you guys. Going to see the Sounders or whatever."

He sits up in bed, the sheets pooling around his waist, and runs a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. "Is it normal to have a soccer-themed bachelor party?"

"Don't ask me." I shrug. "Delly's bachelorette is golf-themed."

His eyes narrow. "How does that even work?"

"I don't know!" I say exasperatedly, tugging at my hair out of sheer nervousness. "Everyone wears a shit-ton of argyle and knee-socks and we play a few rounds on the course before we matriculate to the bar to drink eighteen shots by the end of the night."

"Oh, I think I get it." Peeta nods his understanding, and his blond eyebrows shoot up mischievously. "One shot per hole?"

I blush at the obvious innuendo in his voice and head for the bathroom before he can comment further. But he just manages to speak before I escape into the relative privacy of my en-suite bathroom.

"Should I even ask about par?"

I pause in the door and turn to him over my shoulder. "Not puking. Get dressed." I slam the door closed, grateful that at least I'll have a brief reprieve from blushing over every word I say.

* * *

Peeta agrees to drop me off at the bar Delly has chosen for her party before he meets up with the guys at Gale's house. I know why I'm not driving—I plan on being utterly shit-faced by the end of the night—but I'm curious as to why Peeta doesn't want to take advantage of an open bar. I make a mental note to ask him about it later as he walks me down to the car. We pass my uncle, who has chosen to escape the insanity by escaping to his home away from home—the small boat he purchased last year and takes out on the Sound as often as he can. The weather this weekend has been perfect so far, and I know Haymitch well enough to realize that he must be cursing both my sister and my aunt for choosing this weekend for the world's most ridiculous wedding.

"Ahoy!" he calls jovially from the deck. "Ahh, sweetheart, you look like Tiger Woods's wife." He nods to my pink skirt, pale blue V-neck sweater, and argyle patterned knee-socks. I look ridiculous, but this was the outfit Delly specifically requested I wear.

Beside me, Peeta snickers, no doubt at the Tiger Woods's wife comment, but I decide not to get into it right now. "Thanks, Uncle Haymitch."

He watches carefully as Peeta opens the car door for me. "You kids have fun tonight. Peeta, be sure to call if you have a little more than anticipated and need a ride back. Gale and company can party pretty hard."

"Will do, sir," Peeta responds before he climbs into the driver's seat.

I study him while he adjusts the seat and mirrors to his liking. Now seems like as good a time as any to bring up my question. "You don't plan on drinking at all tonight, do you?"

"I'll have a beer or two." He shrugs as he pulls the car onto the residential street and we head toward downtown Seattle. "But it's been my experience that most bachelor parties require at least one sober person to make the necessary Taco Bell run at three in the morning, and I'm happy to oblige."

A laugh escapes my throat and I almost startle. It feels like I haven't truly laughed in years. I decide to resume the questioning I never finished last night. He's trapped with me and he can't very well fall asleep this time. "So have you done a lot of weddings?"

Peeta searches my face for a moment. I'm not positive what he's looking for—maybe he's worried that I'll report back to Madge for another, more damning article. Whatever it is, he eventually sighs and nods, acquiescing to me.

"No," he answers after what feels like forever, and I release a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. "I've never done a wedding, but I have been to several funerals."

I scoff. "People take escorts to  _funerals_?" I don't even try to hide the disbelief in my voice. "Christ, someone's  _dead_."

"Yeah," Peeta nods, his blue eyes wide in utter seriousness. "Imagine facing that alone."

"Point taken," I respond quietly. I hadn't thought of Peeta as moral support in a time like that. Mostly, I thought, he got paid to have sex with women. I'm suddenly very embarrassed. To give myself something to do, I reach up to adjust the neckline of my sweater. It's a little too big and it keeps slipping down further than I'm comfortable with.

He clears his throat. "You look nice. I, um… I like your hair like that." If I didn't know better, I'd think he was trying to make the situation a little less awkward.

I reach a hand to the thick chignon on the back of my head. I debated long and hard with myself as to whether or not I should wear it down tonight. I knew Delly would pitch a fit if I tugged my hair into its usual braid, but I also didn't feel like pulling it off my sweaty neck all night, as would be necessary if I left it down. Eventually, I decided to create several smaller braids and twist them into a knot that I pinned up and out of the way. It's dressy enough to appease my sister and still cool enough to endure an evening of drinking and dancing.

With a start, I realize I've been silent for far too long. "Thank you," I murmur.

He chuckles. "You're not used to compliments, are you?"

"Is it that obvious?" I blush.

"Maybe not to everyone else, but it's kind of my job to pick up on those things."

I'm constantly surprised by how cavalier he speaks about his work. It does nothing but further spark my curiosity. Maybe I should have been a journalist after all. "So…" I say slowly, realizing that I have to tread lightly around this subject. "Tell me about your clients."

He grins. "I appreciate that you're curious about what I do, but I really can't talk about my clients." He's declined me, but at least he's being polite about it. I feel like we've taken a huge step forward. And he's still smiling, the corners of his too-blue eyes crinkling.

"Come on!" I press as we pull to a stop at the curb in front of the bar, a swanky club right on the wharf, the bright neon sign above christening it as the Pier 12 Pub. Peeta steers the car into a parking spot and kills the engine. "Just tell me how many of them want to sleep with you," I finish as he withdraws the key from the ignition.

"You should go." He shakes his head as he steps from the car, crosses around to my door and opens it, extending his hand to help me gain my footing on the curb. It's also obvious that I can't walk for shit in high heels.

I lean against the car and cross my arms over my chest. "I'm not going anywhere until you give me  _something_  about your job. It's only fair."

He sighs, but a smile plays on his mouth and finally he shakes his head the tiniest bit. "You know, I swear, it's not even about the sex for most people."

"I find that difficult to believe," I say, fighting to keep my eyes locked on his and not rake them up and down his frame. "I mean, look at you." Damn. Too much energy spent on not looking and not enough spent on controlling my mouth.

Peeta takes it in stride. "Nah… It's not about  _me_ ," he insists. "It's about you, what you need from me the most. And for very few people is that actually an orgasm."

I'm not convinced, mostly because I truly believe that a lot of life's problems can be if not solved, then at least abated by a good, hard fucking. So I roll my eyes, turn back to the still open car door, and toss my small silver clutch into the passenger seat.

"All right," I say firmly. "Show me."

He laughs and runs a hand through his hair, a gesture, I'm beginning to realize, that means he's flustered. "Show you what exactly?"

"If what you do really isn't about sex…" Boldly, I trail a finger up his chest. "Then show me what you mean."

"I don't play games, Katniss."

I scoff. "Oh, whatever. You're like the Yoda of escorts. Getting you on the phone was harder than getting into college. Come on…" I grab for his hand and my stomach flips when our skin makes contact. "Show me."

"What's stopping me?" he smirks. "Could it be the phrase, 'morally repugnant?'"

I blush and begin to stammer out an apology, but my words are cut short when Peeta presses a long finger to my lips and shushes me.

"Close your eyes," he murmurs, moving his face closer to mine.

I swallow hard and fixate on the impossibly long eyelashes that frame his bright eyes.

"Close your eyes," he repeats, his voice lower and more commanding. I try to surreptitiously glance around to verify that I'm not making a fool of myself in front of all Delly's friends, but Peeta's lips ghost my ear as he whispers again, "Close… Your… Eyes…"

Without another thought, I oblige.

"You're safe. Just relax."

My lips pucker automatically.

He chuckles. "I'm  _not_  going to kiss you."

His voice is a low hum that reverberates through my entire body. I'm suddenly desperate for his touch, for his body to press against mine, and his mouth to find my lips over and over again until I'm breathless. My knees feel shaky and weak and I'm grateful for the car behind me. I'd collapse into oncoming traffic if it weren't for the steel and Peeta's embrace.

"He is going to be so sorry he lost you…" Peeta's breath is on my cheeks now. His lips barely touch my eyelids. His broad hands grab my hips and pull me towards him and I feel his entire body thrumming just inches from me. "So forget the past. Forget the pain. And just focus on what a phenomenal woman you are. You do that and he'll realize what he lost."

My heart pounds and I'm slack-jawed as he backs away from me. The air is still electric with tension as I open my eyes to stare directly at the plump lips that I want nothing more than to devour. I feel better than I have in months. I feel relaxed and balanced. Honestly, I feel like I've just come down from the biggest, hardest, greatest orgasm of all time.

"Holy… Shit…" I say breathlessly as Peeta moves to stand beside me. "You're worth every penny."

He grins and I vainly try to swallow the lump that's risen in my throat.

"You should probably go…" he says softly.

"Mmhmm…" I nod as my eyes flutter shut of their own accord. I'd do anything to stay in this moment for just a while longer.

"Katniss."

"Yep!" I snap my eyes open. "Okay, Yoda. I'm going." Carefully, still punch-drunk on his words and unstable in the knees, I take a teetering step forward. Peeta's hands immediately find the small of my back and he gently nudges my hips to the left. I nod gratefully and try to maintain my composure. If he hadn't steered me in the right direction, I probably would have walked right off into the Puget Sound.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you have questions or comments, please leave them here or PM me and I will get back to you as soon as I can. <3 meggie


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hi all. Sorry for the delay. Please be aware that things take a bit of an adult turn in this chapter, so be advised if you aren't into that sort of thing. I also have to say a huge thank you to loving-mellark for her work on this beautiful banner! She volunteered to make it for me and I was absolutely floored that anyone could like anything I made so much. Thank you, darling! I love it!

[](http://tinypic.com?ref=6fb4gn)

* * *

My heart continues to thrum rapidly in my chest and my head still spins as I stumble into the bar. I'm already embarrassingly uncoordinated in heels, and I'm utterly hopeless when they're combined with Peeta's words. I just can't shake the feeling of his soft lips as they ghosted over my cheeks, my eyelids, my ears… Just the memory brings a fresh surge of heat between my thighs and I recall the way his hips pinned me against the cool metal of the rental car. I may need a cold shower.

I can't say I'm surprised that he was able to elicit such a reaction from me—he told me himself that his job depended on it—but I  _am_  shocked that I can't forget it, especially since I've spent the last few days concerned about Thom and no one else. In four years, Thom  _never_  made me feel the way that Peeta did in four minutes.

"Kat- _niss_!" Delly's long arms close around me and I inadvertently inhale a mouthful of overly-coiffed, overly-hair-sprayed blonde curls. "Now the party can start, bitches!" she calls to a throng of argyle-clad sorority alumni. "My  _real_  sister is finally here." She plants a sloppy kiss on my cheek and whoops loudly.

I appreciate the sentiment, but from the smell of her breath, I think it's safe to assume that the party—or at least Delly's little piece of it—is already underway. I pat her hand gently and accept a shot of tequila from Johanna.

"Thank God you finally showed up," my cousin mutters. "I was seriously about to punch a blonde bitch. Although I can't say I blame you for being late…" She winks. "I'd be tapping that hot boyfriend's ass every damn chance I got."

I have to bite my tongue to keep from telling Johanna that for a mere six-thousand dollars, she too can enjoy the pleasure of Peeta Mellark's presence… And mouth. I raise the shot glass to my lips, but Delly clears her throat behind me and I remember my maid-of-honor duties with a start. My sister and the milling crowd look to me expectantly, waiting for the toast that officially opens the celebration.

I lift the glass and watch the crowd mimic my actions. "To Delly!" They repeat my words and we drink together. Somebody—is it Delly  _again_?—whoops and bounces to the dance floor and I relish the burn of the tequila as it works in my belly.

Spurred on by Johanna (and my promise to myself that tonight I would stop at no less than rip-roaring drunk), I polish off shots two and three and am seriously debating just getting four out of the way too when I notice a mass migration of women from the dance floor to the bar door. The crowd parts for a brief second and I catch sight of a new figure. Now the movement makes sense: Peeta Mellark has just entered the bar. He politely side-steps the grasping hands, enhanced breasts, and flipping hair of the crowd of women as his eyes search for one thing only. They light up when he spots me across the room and I nearly choke.

Somehow he escapes the throng and slides his hand across the small of my back to rest on my hip. I can't tell if the dizziness in my head is tequila or Peeta or some wicked combination of both. Either way, it's exquisite. His lips press against my temple in greeting and I can feel the envious glares of every last woman in the bar land on my back.

"You forgot this," he whispers and places my clutch on the bar top.

"Thanks." I rest my hands protectively on the bag and arch an eyebrow at him. It's clear to me that he finds this entire situation too hilarious for words, but I'll be damned if I let him have a laugh at my expense without knowing exactly what's causing that smug look of his.

He shoves his hands in his pants pockets and shrugs. "I mean, I can't imagine how you'd forget to grab it out of the car," he says, his lips tugged upward in a smirk.

My cheeks flush from both embarrassment and alcohol. "Silly me… I can't imagine where my head was."

Peeta winks and it sets my blood boiling because he's just so damn  _snarky_  about the whole situation. I've just sucked in a deep breath to retort when Johanna swoops between us, her Victoria's Secret enhanced cleavage merely inches away from my Rent-a-Boyfriend's face.

I clear my throat. "He was just leaving," I say with a bit more acid than is entirely necessary. I know she won't try anything; Johanna has just always been incredibly fond of the attention that comes with her good looks and open sexuality. Normally it doesn't bother me to see my cousin flirt with my date—I can't count the times she made a sexual joke to Thom in my presence—but tonight my vision flashes red and I want to punch her.

"No!" she trills, the alcohol extending her syllables to the point of stupidity. "Stay and have a drink with us!"

Behind Johanna, but not out of earshot, Delly perks up and her eyes find mine and flash dangerously in warning. I get the message immediately. She doesn't want him here.

"I don't think that's such a great idea…" I murmur, trying to direct Peeta toward the door. "Delly won't like it much and I—"

"Yo, Dell!" Jo yells over the throbbing music. "Can Kat's man-candy stay for a drink?"

For a moment, my sister looks as if she wants nothing more than for Peeta to crawl into a hole and die. She catches herself quickly though, and nods curtly. She even manages a small smile as she mouths "it's fine" to us and continues dancing with her friends. But I notice that she keeps glancing over her shoulder as more and more of her guests rush to inspect the new male in the building.

Johanna almost magically produces a drink for Peeta and instantaneously the mass of women surround and practically devour him. He widens his eyes at me, but I just shrug. If I was jealous of my cousin, I'm downright  _covetous_  of these other woman. I know I'm pretty much running this show, at least as far as Peeta's concerned, and all it would take is a snap of my fingers for him to rush through the crowd and be back at my side. He looks uncomfortable surrounded by all the woman he could have in a heartbeat, and a small, sadistic part of me wants to see Peeta Mellark, Yoda of Male Escorts, a little uncomfortable for a few minutes. Plus I need to get my own bearings.

"Christ," Johanna scoffs beside me as Delly joins us at the bar and calls for her next drink. "Can you believe Katniss actually gets to fuck this guy?"

I winkle my nose at her crassness and Delly merely narrows her eyes and plays with the straw in her empty glass.

"I mean, seriously," Johanna continues, clearly unfazed by our silence. "You ought to send God a bottle of wine or a quiche or something."

The bartender returns then with Delly's drink and a fresh bowl of pretzels. I continue watching Peeta. I suppose he resigned himself to the fact that I wasn't coming to save him because now he's trying to hold a conversation with every woman surrounding him. Or maybe he's trying to build up his client base.

Johanna, on the other hand, really doesn't know when to stop. "Look at those buns," she quips, popping a pretzel into her mouth. "Fresh from the bakery."

Delly giggles drunkenly and I decide I've let Peeta suffer long enough, so I push through the crowd to where he stands and wrap my arms around his waist. Learning in close I whisper, "It must feel great getting paid just for being you…"

Without missing a beat—does anything fluster him?—Peeta smiles like he's absolutely thrilled to see me and kisses me firmly in greeting. As we separate, his mouth hovers over the shell of my ear. "Who says I'm being me?"

My stomach drops with the guilt I feel immediately after his words register in my brain and I glance at him long enough to notice something new in his normally bright eyes. For the first time I wonder if maybe there's more to Peeta than I've given him credit for. I open my mouth to apologize, but my sister insinuates herself between us and clears her throat. With a hand on one hip, her eyes widen, daring Peeta to stay any longer.

"Well…" he says with a small sigh, "thank you for granting me a rare glimpse into a timeless female ritual." Whatever new emotion might have been present in his gaze has now dissipated and he tilts his head toward Delly and smiles brightly at her.

Delly tucks a gold curl behind her ear and smiles. Even she, in her staunch disapproval of him, can't help but be swayed by that smile. This show of gratitude is enough to placate my half-sister, but Peeta takes it a step further.

He lifts his glass and glances around at the women who still encircle him. "Here's to the husbands who've won you, the losers who've lost you, and…" Peeta pauses for a moment, turning words over in his head, no doubt searching for the perfect thing to say. Finally, he looks at me. "And to the lucky bastards who have yet to meet you."

There's an undeniable spark between us then. As we lift our glasses to our lips and drain them, our eyes never leave the other's. The crackle of electricity is so real that it's all I can do to swallow my drink. There's so much more meaning behind his words and I know it's meant for me, but I can't pinpoint exactly what he means.

Luckily, Delly saves the day. "And don't forget the cock in the henhouse!" Her voice is lighthearted and her smile is genuine, but the timing is all too clear. This is her night, her event. Normally I would be annoyed at her selfishness, but tonight I'm almost grateful. Peeta's presence fills me with an indescribable awareness of myself, one that I'm not sure I'm ready to explore.

In spite of the crowd's protests, I loop an arm around Peeta's waist and escort him back to the door. Before I realize it, I'm pushing myself onto the tips of my toes and claiming his mouth with a light peck. At this, Johanna whoops triumphantly, so I kiss him again, this time flinging my arms around his neck and nipping at his bottle lip with my teeth. I feel him hesitate for a split second before he returns my actions with verve and sweeps me into a kiss so passionate that my knees actually go weak.

He finally pulls away when I'm breathless and my lips are swollen and it's only the catcalls of Delly's friends that remind me we aren't alone. Peeta looks at me quizzically for a moment, searching my face for an answer to a question I'm unaware of, before he waves a final goodbye to the party and ducks out through the door.

I can't stifle the grin that crosses my face as the other women watch me jealously. I'm thankful when Johanna puts an arm around my shoulders and leads me to the bar.

She sighs dramatically. "I can't believe you found him first! God, I am  _so_  depressed!" My boisterous cousin tips back the remainder of the liquid in her glass and smacks her lips. "Will someone," she calls in the general direction of the bartender—a tall, muscular man with copper-colored hair and eyes so green they make emeralds look dull—"buy my hoo-hah a drink?" He winks back at her and I know Johanna has once again gotten her way.

Strangely, as I procure my next shot, I can't stop thinking about Peeta.  _It will pass_ , I tell myself.  _Just keeping drinking and it will pass_.

* * *

One thing becomes painfully obvious as the night progresses: I definitely should not have kissed Peeta. Or maybe he just shouldn't have looked at me like he cared about me as anything other than a client. Whatever. I'm very drunk so not a whole lot is making any sense whatsoever.

Maybe I'm jealous of Johanna's ability to pick up men wherever she goes. She's been flirting with the bartender—whose name is Finnick, she finally revealed to me via text message, along with her plan to utterly seduce him by the end of the night—for the last two hours. I have to commend her; so far, her plan is working flawlessly. She keeps tapping a cigarette out of the package, pressing it between her lips, and waiting patiently for him to light it. He always obliges, even though Johanna doesn't smoke, and the ashtray next to her elbow is full of still-smoldering cigarettes.

I fiddle with the straw in my drink. With my cousin otherwise occupied and Delly flittering between her friends, I feel very alone. Normally this is when my thoughts stray to Thom—his strong arms, the way his eyelids fluttered closed right before he kissed me, his lips as they worked with mine. Tonight though, I can only focus on Peeta. On a whim, before I can really think it through and stop myself, I take my phone from my clutch and type out a text message to him.  _Having fun yet?_

To be honest, I don't expect a response from him at all. I know how hard Gale and Thom can party when they're together. I'm sure there's a stripper grinding on Peeta's lap right now. I snort. What an ironic image. Almost immediately, my phone buzzes with a response.  _Definitely. I just got back. Gale was shit-faced and none too excited about the strippers Thom ordered so I took him home. Think I'll finish this beer with your uncle and head to bed._

I smile to myself, both at Gale's anger and Peeta's chivalrousness. Then, another message lights up my screen.

_I'll wait up for you_.

My thumbs hesitate above the touch screen. On the one hand, it would be nice to have someone available to make sure that I pass out on my side. Delly would never forgive me if I up and died before her wedding. On the other, I don't want Peeta to feel like he needs to take care of me. I'm still chewing my lip, contemplating my response, when my phone buzzes again.

_And don't even argue. I have a book to finish so I'd be up anyway._

I blush, but tap out the only reply I can think of. It's lame and ridiculous and I feel stupid the moment I push send.  _Okay_.

"Ooh, Kitty-Kat!" Delly collapses onto the barstool beside me. "Why aren't you having fun at my party?" she pouts.

I pat her arm gently and motion for another drink. I may be pretty wasted already, but I'm nowhere near drunk enough to deal with a smashed Delly. "I am." I'm definitely not, but hopefully she'll be too drunk to realize my lie.

She pooches out her lips and watches me take a long swig of the liquid Finnick has just delivered to me. Then she leans over the bar top and grasps his arm firmly. "Do you think my sister is pretty?" she slurs.

Finnick's eyes widen and he looks like he wants nothing more than to return to Johanna.

"Well, do you?" Delly's never been one to be ignored.

I sigh. "You might as well answer. She won't shut up otherwise."

He's a good sport, so he looks me up and down before jerking his head noncommittally. "Yeah, she's all right."

"Of course she is!" Delly grabs my face between her hands and kisses my forehead firmly. "Because in school she was voted Best Hair and Best Eyes and Most Likely to Age Well…" Her voice trails off and her already glassy eyes glisten with tears. "Oh, Kat." She hugs me tightly. "You're my half-sister, but I whole love you."

Awkwardly, I comfort her. I've never been great with outward displays of emotion. "How about, uh…" I nod at Finnick, who is watching our exchange with a bemused expression. "How about you get my sister a shot for her next hole?"

At this, Delly perks up. "Tequila!" she chirps. "Tequila. This is my eighth, you know."

I nod. Somehow I feel like she missed a few in her count, but it's not my place to say anything.

Beside me, Delly muffles a sob. Somehow, any feelings of animosity I have toward my sister always disappear when she starts crying. "Dell? Are you all right?"

She looks up at me, her round eyes red and swollen. Her bottom lip trembles and a tiny moan escapes her lips. "I don't know if I can do this."

"The eighth hole?" I glance at Finnick as he sets her requested tequila shot in front of her.

"N-no…" She hiccups. "The wedding. I shouldn't be allowed to get married. I shouldn't…" She dissolves into tears.

My concern grows. This wedding is the only thing Delly's talked about since Gale proposed. She and my aunt have left no stone unturned to ensure that she has the wedding of her dreams. "Why would you say that, Delly? If anyone deserves to be happy, it's you."

She shakes her head and a curtain of hair makes her voice almost indistinguishable. "No, I don't deserve any of this. If you knew, Katniss… God, if you just  _knew_ , you'd…"

But I guess I'll never know what I'd do, because Delly's tears dissipate as quickly as they arrived, and she slams her shot back just as the opening notes of her favorite dance song throb over the speakers.

"Jo-Jo!" She bounces off the barstool and drags Johanna away from Finnick and onto the dance floor.

I decide not to worry about it. Cold feet are perfectly normal before a big wedding, and Delly's always been a stereotypical weepy drunk. I wish Peeta had been here to witness the exchange. It seems like he's always great at knowing exactly what people mean. I chew on my bottom lip and check my phone for any more messages.

I try not to be disappointed when my screen shows only the date and time.

* * *

I've always hated credit cards. Aunt Effie says it's one of the things I learned from my uncle. I've always thought that if I needed something badly enough, I should have the cash to pay for it. I really hate owing people—or companies—anything. Unfortunately, it's really hard to do much of anything without a decent credit score. So, in a moment of weakness—and during a really great sale at my favorite department store—I'd applied for a Visa. I always keep it with me, nestled in the far recesses of my wallet, just in case there are any emergencies for which I need it, but I try really hard not to use it very often. Though as the limo pulls over to the curb on Johanna's street to let her out and I spot the glowing letters that announce the presence of an ATM, I'm eternally grateful for that tiny piece of plastic in my wallet.

I practically fall out of the limo after my cousin and Delly leans out the window, her confusion written all over her face. "Kat!" she calls. "What the hell are you doing? Johanna has a fellow coming up this evening." Johanna flips my sister the bird and Delly dissolves into a mess of hysterical laughter.

"I need some cash!" I whisper drunkenly, which almost guarantees that everyone on the block heard me.

Somewhere between the eleventh and the eighteenth hole—as I had danced and texted back and forth with Peeta and watched Johanna flirt—I had started seriously considering taking this business proposal to the next level. It only made sense, I reasoned. I felt like my aunt was just waiting to see a condom wrapper in my bathroom wastebasket to convince her that I am straight and breathing and meeting my sexual needs somehow.

Not to mention that it's been a hell of a long time since I've had an orgasm brought to me by a man and not Energizer.

So I swipe my credit card over and over again through the machine, each time taking out the maximum withdrawal amount. If I were sober, I'd realize that the interest on the cash advances alone will kill me on my next statement and that one night of sex with anyone can't be worth this much money. But then I remember the way Peeta's hips had felt against mine; how perfectly we fit together against that car, fully clothed and in broad daylight. I can only imagine that he'll be even better naked and between the soft sheets of my bed.

I run my card through one last time, praying that I'm still sober enough to do have figured the math correctly, because there's no way in hell that I can count through all of this.

Johanna swings an arm around my neck and presses a sloppy kiss to my temple. "Top night, Brainless!" she calls as she stumbles down the block to the door of her apartment building. "Top  _fucking_  night!"

With the back of my hand, I unsuccessfully stifle a giggle as I shove the money into my small purse and climb back into the limousine. I haven't heard from Peeta in a while, but that's no matter. The element of surprise usually works best in these situations.

* * *

The house is dark and silent as I twist my key in the lock and take the stairs carefully. Someone—probably my uncle—has thought to leave the hall light on its dimmest setting so I can see enough not to trip over my own feet. Peeta lies sleeping peacefully on my bed, his glasses slipping down his nose, and the thick book he's been reading open on his lap. He really did try to wait up for me. That little gesture is enough to convince me that the next step of my plan is absolutely necessary. But not here. Not in this room. Not on the floral sheets that my aunt bought for my thirteenth birthday.

I bend down and plant a light kiss on Peeta's cheek. His eyes flutter open sleepily. Have his eyelashes always been this long or is that another side effect of the alcohol?

Once he wakes a bit more, he sits straight up and looks at me, concern etched in the lines of his forehead. "Are you okay?"

I nod. "I'm perfect." Then I extend my hand to him and he pushes himself off the bed. I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him in close.

"Katniss…" he breathes. The lips I can't stop thinking about are maddeningly close to my own. "Don't you want to get in bed?"

My head is light as I kiss him softly and turn to lead him back down the stairs, out the front door, and onto the deck of my uncle's boat. I stumble going up the stairs—of course I do—but Peeta's hands are right there to steady me, to keep me balanced, and for the first time, I can see evidence in his eyes that he wants this as badly as I do.

He follows me on board and into the hull of the boat, never once questioning what the hell we're doing outside on a cool, sticky Seattle night, or why I'm stepping out of my ridiculous stiletto heels and rolling the pink argyle socks over my ankles. He doesn't protest when I press my body to his and unfasten the buttons of his shirt one at a time until his chest is revealed to me and I can run my hands over the fine blond hairs.

He watches me with lust-filled eyes as I unzip my skirt and step out of it and pull the blue sweater over my head. At one point I see him open his mouth, and I'm terrified that he'll ask me to stop or he'll laugh and tell me that I've completely misread the situation… But instead, his tongue darts between his lips to moisten them, and he runs a hand through his hair as the front of his boxers twitch.

I'm naked before I can register that I've unhooked my bra and tossed it over the lamp and stepped out of my simple cotton panties. It isn't fancy lingerie, hell, it doesn't even match, but as I watch Peeta take in the sight of my bare body, it doesn't matter. He forms fists with his hands and relaxes them slowly and vaguely I wonder if he's trying to restrain himself. I'm silently grateful for the courage in the form of alcohol that still courses through my blood. I've never been a take-charge kind of girl.

"It hardly seems fair that I'm naked and you aren't…" I say breathily as I take a step toward him and situate myself on my knees in front of him. Carefully, slowly, to draw out the experience as much as possible for both of us, I slide my fingers under the waistband of his boxers and tug gently downward.

He moans a little as the fabric moves over his half-hard dick and then slides down his thighs. Peeta shifts ever so slightly and the fabric pools around his feet. "Katniss…" His voice is strained and deeper than normal.

I look up at him with wide eyes as I silence him by taking the tip of his cock into my mouth and suckling gently. He's trying so hard to keep himself in check. His fingernails dig into the flesh of his thighs to keep from gripping my head to move me just the infinitesimal direction that would drive him to the edge. His teeth clamp over his bottom lip as I use my hand to stroke him in time with my oral ministrations.

"Katniss…" he hisses again, and his breathing is sharp and ragged. The problem he has with what I'm doing strikes me suddenly—he hates relinquishing this much control. But then a drop of his juices lands on my tongue and I'm desperate for more. I move my head and hand faster, suck in my cheeks more tightly, and then I gasp when I feel his hand grip the back of my head and tug me away from him.

I'd be lying if I said my feelings weren't hurt. Thom had never complained when I'd bowed before him and worked him to frenzy with my mouth. Then again, Thom has had much fewer women than Peeta… I suppose my pathetic attempt at giving head isn't worth much. Mortified, and trying desperately to keep my tears in check, I crawl away from Peeta and toward the pile of my clothes just a few feet away.

"What are you doing?" he asks me breathlessly.

"I… I thought… Never mind…" I shake my head, wishing for the first time tonight that I'd left my hair down so it would hide my flaming cheeks. The first tear runs down my cheek as Peeta kneels beside me on the floor. Then he's kissing me gently, coaxing me back toward the small bed. I'll do whatever he wants as long as those hands never leave my body.

He settles me gently onto the jersey sheets and lies on top of me. He kisses me again and wipes away the escaped tears with the pad of his thumb. His long, lithe fingers seem to trail fire as they pass over my face, my neck, my shoulders. His mouth finds the hollow of thin skin just behind my earlobe and he sucks gently, just enough to make me squirm beneath him, desperate to feel him, his mouth, his hands all over me.

"Let your hair down," he whispers gruffly.

I oblige and a handful of hairpins later, my thick curls cascade over my shoulders and stick to my already glistening skin. It's humid, I realize vaguely, and it seems so surprising to me that I'm able to focus on anything other than Peeta's fingers as they trace designs in electric waves on my sides.

"Let go," he murmurs against my skin before kissing his way down my stomach and settling his face between my thighs. I stiffen, afraid that he'll see something terribly wrong with me, but he says nothing. He just strokes my thighs gently to coax them open. Then he dips a finger into my core and the sensation is so great that my back arches immediately. One becomes two become three and then his lips clamp down on the most sensitive part of me and I'm grinding against his mouth for all I'm worth. I have to grasp handfuls of bed sheets and bite the insides of my cheeks to keep from crying out.

Raising his head from his sweet torture, Peeta looks up at me. "Let yourself go," he whispers. "Let yourself feel this." With his free hand, he reaches up and laces his fingers through mine.

I nod. I already feel less woozy from the booze of Delly's party, but the euphoria of my drunkenness has been replaced by the ecstasy I know is so close with Peeta. My breath grows shallow and raspy as his fingers move faster and faster. I'm just about to cry out his name when he halts his actions, sits up, and watches me breathe for a moment.

"You're sure about this?" he asks, gesturing between our naked bodies.

Truth be told, I'm not sure of anything at the moment, other than that we're here and together and my legs are still shaking from the pressure of his mouth. So I nod again and reach for him and once again, our bodies fit together perfectly.

Peeta kisses me gently, more gently than he has this entire weekend, as his hand snakes between my legs and guides him right to my opening. He moves into me so slowly that I think I may die if he doesn't completely sheath himself soon. My hips jerk forward of their own accord and he smiles down at me.

"Patience…" he breathes against my mouth and continues to move. "Everything worth having is worth waiting for."

I close my eyes tightly and gasp when he finally fills me completely. When he's convinced that I'm comfortable, he begins to thrust in and out as slowly as he can manage. I know I'm going to go crazy from the sensations rippling throughout me. I need more. I need to feel the fire extend from my belly into my fingertips, the very top of my head, my toes. I need  _him_  in a way that I've never needed another person before. Not even Thom…  _Not even Thom._

Peeta groans and increases his pace. His eyes are clamped tightly shut and his mouth hangs open in a tiny 'O' of pleasure.

It's quick, whether it's from how long it's been since I shared my body with another person or just that Peeta really,  _really_  knows what he's doing. Either way, the warmth of pleasure already burns hot in my abdomen, built up by the long minutes of foreplay, and it's quickly spreading into just the areas I need it most. I grip his arms tightly and moan his name as the muscles in my thighs tighten in a vain attempt to draw him even deeper within me.

" _Fuck_ , Katniss…" He's guttural, animalistic as he continues to move.

"Peeta…" I have just enough time to mutter his name once more as everything goes silent and silver and fuzzy around the edges. My eyes close automatically and I feel myself carried away onto waves of the most serene feeling I've ever known. My lungs burn with need of oxygen, but I can't bring myself to draw breath and break the spell that has so completely captured me. I convince myself that oxygen is overrated—all I need in this moment is Peeta. My toes flex, then curl, and my fingernails dig helplessly into Peeta's arms. He fills me twice more before a string of obscenities leave his lips, followed by my name in a breathy sigh, and I feel him release within me.

We lie together for a long time, his fingers ensnared in my loose hair, our legs wrapped together and tangled in the sheets.

I'm drifting in that perfect, liquid state between waking and sleep when Peeta's voice reaches me. "Katniss, this… Was it… Real?"

Exhausted from both the alcohol and the love-making, I can't open my eyes or form more than one word, but I do manage to nod. "Real."

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please feel free to visit me at my Tumblr page: @ meggie-mellark


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